


sand in my teeth (sand in my bones)

by scarsimp



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: All I’m saying is Spock had arthritis, Arthritis, Autistic Spock (Star Trek), Chronic Pain, Gen, M/M, Nonbinary Spock (Star Trek), Poor Bones, Trans James T. Kirk, also, jim is a good (boy)friend, not said but jsyk, sick of their shit, spock bas chronic pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarsimp/pseuds/scarsimp
Summary: Spock is scarcely into his twenties but when he wakes up his shoulders crack and his hips groan as if they were alive. Pain is a dull throbbing in his head and the steady rot of his bones as he goes about his day— sand in his skull and sand in his joints, red as human blood and red as Vulcan.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock (implied)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	sand in my teeth (sand in my bones)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been my biggest hc for years yall Spock has chronic pain!!! And hormone issues!!! Let me have this!!

Spock is scarcely twenty eight but he is laying on his back in medbay staring at the painfully white ceiling. The lights are just on the verge of too bright and the thick scent of antiseptic and hormones pervade through the air and fabric— it clings to the roof of Spock's mouth and in his skin and he, not for the first illogical time, wonders what he is doing. Doctor McCoy's voice ringing to the left in complaint quickly reminds him: on the good doctor's very  _ colorful _ insistance, Spock was to come to medbay for observation and a saline drip. He claimed he had 'suspicions' involving Spock's health and would let him know immediately once they were either confirmed or denied. 

So Spock laid there and wished faintly that he had brought a PADD. His hands resting plainly in his lap did little to dispel the hummingbird frantic beat of his heart. Elevated as it was, he was malcontent.

*****

Spock is scarcely into his twenties but when he wakes up his shoulders crack and his hips groan as if they were alive. Pain is a dull throbbing in his head and the steady rot of his bones as he goes about his day— sand in his skull and sand in his joints, red as human blood and red as Vulcan. 

He ignores it to the best of his ability and control. 

For the most part he is content with it. There is a tiny, futile voice in the back of his mind reminding him of what the old ship doctor had said,  _ "Healthy means no pain, if you're hurting then something is wrong'. _ It sounds suspiciously like both his mother and Jim and he sometimes meditates upon it instead of blocking it out. Imagining his mother was there to give advice instead of light years away on a planet that did not love her. 

After he gets up from the mat his knees twinge and it takes all of his control not to gasps. He bites it down with the indignity of an angry le'matya and continues on. 

His knee aches up into his femur for the rest of his time off. 

*****

Spock was twelve Earth years old when it first became truly noticeable, though what exactly it was that notified his mother was up for questioning. a reluctance to get out of bed, or a stiffness to his body, he could not know. That does little to erase the countless memories of cold, white rooms and the scent of coppery blood mixed with vaccines and hyposprays. 

The nurse that saw to him was cold and rough, firmly grasping his arms and legs and scanning him with a slight look across her face that spoke only of vague disgust. If his mother noticed she refrained from speaking upon it. Instead she watched him carefully— for what, he wasn't quite sure of either. All he knows is that looking back on the dusted memory brings an ache to his chest and throat, something forlorn in his mother's big brown eyes that sits wrong in him. 

Getting home that evening was little more a pleasure than the examination itself, ending only with his father standing taller than he could physically reach. It was a wonder how big everything seemed to a small child. His father was a faceless giant, and he could still hear him saying, in a voice that echoed in his mind and reverberated through his bones, "You must find control. This pain is merely a struggle of the body, you need not waste time expanding upon it." 

Sarek's eyes were cold and hard when he looked at Spock and he wondered if they would ever soften. 

*****

Doctor McCoy has been passing him aggrieved glances every five or so minutes, the glare covering his face and hiding the unabashed worry behind it. If Spock had not spent so long on the same ship as him he doubted he would have been able to discern it properly. 

“Is there an issue, Doctor?” His voice was as cold as normal, ice against the cool of the white, plain medbay. It cut loudly in the silence of another one of Leonard’s stares.

He watched as the doctor took a deep breath, blue gaze invulcanly bright. “I think there is, yeah.”

***** 

Something happens. Something  _ happened _ , and Spock did not know quite where the day went wrong. Thoughts were almost… thick, in his mind. Sappy like terran honey and running in a congealed mass like wet sand, making conclusions near impossible and filling his senses with a staticky grey. He was  _ so _ tired— why was he so tired? He had slept the appropriate number of hours, meditated as he normally did, everything he was supposed to do. What was he missing?

He did not know, and at the current moment he could not find the energy inside of himself to care. Waking up was a fight he doubted his body would let him win at the moment and so he simply turned his face further into his pillow, allowing himself a small sigh and staring, unseeing at the tapestry draping across the wall. He didn't remember falling asleep. 

His dreams were flashes of white teeth and salted water, pressure all around him ever increasing until his head caved in. His eyes hurt from the force of it and Spock was convinced he would surely drown.

—

Spock woke up to four missed calls on his PADD and a series of increasingly exasperated messages, all from the captain demanding to know where he was located. He stared blankly at it for a moment before the thought flitted across his mind that he had likely missed his shift. Looking at the clock only confirmed the worst, and Spock frowned. He had certainly overslept, to say the least about it. 

Typing out a vague explanation and apology took longer than it typically would, as did the offer to take up other shifts to balance the time he missed out to its highest sufficiency. Something in his wrist twisted painful as he moved his thumb and Spock ground his teeth across themself, staring at the joint as he tried to garner some willpower. 

Moving hurt.  _ He _ hurt.

*****

Spock hid an instinctive flinch when McCoy pressed firmly into the crease of his elbow, the skin thin and the lining underneath inflamed and hot. He tried not to focus on the look the man shot him, staring ahead as he spoke. "Spock, you mean to tell me you've been feeling like this and haven't thought to say  _ anything _ ?"

Spock imperceptibly shrugged, his shoulders tightening for a moment. "It had not deigned on me to be necessary, doctor. I am well adjusted to this, what need do I have to change it?" 

McCoy's frown only deepened, "Isn't it illogical to live your life in pain, Spock?" 

"Perhaps for a species more unequipped to deal with the sensation, yes. I am perfectly capable of handling my own." His voice was clipped and succinct, even as his elbow continued to throb from the pressure the doctor had put upon it. 

"You're half human, though. Humans are one of 'those species' that can't deal with it." McCoy continued to frown at him, near a scowl as he spoke. His slight drawl was already strengthening. "Can't you just admit for once that someone else can help you, is that so hard?" 

"I do not understand your point, Doctor." 

McCoy raised a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. "My  _ point _ is you have arthritis and refuse to deal with it. We can help you," he emphasized his statement with a wave around the room, "but you won't let us. And I  _ really  _ don't wanna have to pull you from the sche—"

"That will not be necessary, doctor." Spock interrupted. "I do not need to be removed from the current shifts as I am not working beneath my typical percentage." 

“It’s either that or start up a medical treatment plan.” His voice was flat, but unyielding in a way Spock was quickly becoming acquainted with. 

“You cannot force me to—“

“I can’t force you to do anything,” McCoy held up an exasperated hand, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. Except arthritis— and you have some pretty hefty damage here,— counts as a disability. Starfleet requires all disabilities to be treated, or else,” he trailed off with a hand wave. 

“Or else the disabled officer be unlisted.” Spock finished plainly. It was true. Logical, almost. Starfleet paid for all medical expenses and insurance in order to keep its officers at peak functioning.

Spock was not at peak functioning anymore. Had he ever been? When was the last time he woke up and did not  _ ache? _

He did not want to answer that question. 

Outside of his own head, Leonard was still speaking. “I don’t get it, either, Spock. To an extent I could, but you’re obviously in a lot of pain right now and you won’t even admit it with the facts in your face. This needs to be treated if you don’t want a knee replacement by seventy.”

“Very well.” 

Leonard continued on in his rant for a moment, before lausing with a blink. “What?” 

“I acquiesce, doctor.” He dutifully did not mention Doctor McCoy’s thankful swearing as he walked away with a nod.

*****

Spock woke up, eyes heavy and eyelashes heavier. There was a face above him, and he blinked before it cleared into Jim’s. Bright eyes were watching him, soft in a way that caught his breath in his throat. 

“Hey,”

“Hello, captain.” 

The spell was broken by that, Kirk fondly rolling his eyes at the title. “How many times am I gonna have to tell you not to call me that off duty?”

A spark of confusion spliced through Spock’s chest, and he rose a brow. “Were you not on Beta shift, Jim?”

A beam at his name, before he answered. “Yeah, I got off about a half hour ago, Spock.” He motioned towards the Iv in Spock’s arm. “That infusion they set you up on knocked you out pretty good, Bones said it had some sort of antihistamine in it.” He sat down as he spoke, and Spock felt warmth replace the confusion as Jim carefully avoided jostling the IV line.

“I see. Benadryl is the common addition to most immunosuppressive biologics, though it could also be—“ he was cut off with a yawn and Jim chuckled, before two fingers pressed to his wrist.

“Tell me all about it on the way to your room, yeah? Bones sent me here to wake you up so the nurse could unhook you.” 

Spock nodded, before pausing when the motion did little to harm his shoulders. He rolled them once, allowing himself to relax his shields with Jim alone. 

It didn’t hurt, not to the extent the movement would have any other time.

“Spock?” Jim’s voice held a question that he permitted himself to answer. 

“I do not think I realized quite how intense the arthritic pain was until it has been removed.” 

Jim blinked, looking surprised for a moment before he smiled in a way that made Spock safe, and warm.


End file.
